One evening, I asked

her what she was looking for.

“Nothing.”

“Then why do you keep looking outside?”

“I said nothing.”

Her tone was sharper than I’d ever heard before.

I stared at her.

“Lily, something happened in Los Angeles.”

She looked away.

“No.”

“Then talk to me.”

“There is nothing to talk about.”

“I’m your mother.”

“I know.”

“Then please let me help you.”

She suddenly stood up.

“You can’t help me!”

The words hit me harder than she probably realized.

She immediately looked guilty.

But instead of apologizing, she walked upstairs.

That night, I sat alone at the kitchen table for a long time.

I kept asking myself the same question.

What happened to my daughter?

The Teacher’s Phone Call

A few days later, Lily’s teacher called me.

Her voice sounded concerned.

“I wanted to check on Lily.”

“Is something wrong?”

There was a pause.